


Until Only One Remains

by TMar



Category: Highlander (Movies), Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, The Gathering, There Can Be Only One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMar/pseuds/TMar
Summary: Duncan and Connor MacLeod are the last two Immortals left. What now?





	Until Only One Remains

**Author's Note:**

> I based this story on an idea by a fellow member of the email list HIGHLA-L (which still exists, BTW). I wrote it in April 1995, during season 3. It was published in "Who Wants To Live Forever? 2" in July of that year.

Until Only One Remains

Duncan MacLeod brought his sword down and severed his opponent's head with a  
perfect stroke. He waited for the Quickening, and when it hit, everything  
seemed to explode at once. It didn't matter that Duncan and his opponent had  
fought in an empty movie theatre in the middle of the night - glass  
shattered, foam in chairs was ripped out and scattered everywhere, the  
chairs themselves were ripped from the floor and flung into the air, as  
Duncan received one of his most powerful Quickenings yet. He didn't even  
realise that he was screaming until it had died down, allowing him to  
collapse in the aisle, a ruined theatre around him.

Finally able to move after about ten minutes, Duncan pushed himself to a  
sitting position and looked around at the remains of the theatre. Then he  
grabbed his sword and got the hell out of there.

***

Duncan returned to the dojo, still shocked at the enormity of the Quickening,  
knowing he should have expected it. He knew how few Immortals were left, and  
each one that died released a Quickening containing the knowledge and  
strength of every other Immortal in the chain up till then. Duncan felt  
almost... invincible, now. He knew he was much stronger, and in the event of  
being injured, would heal faster. And reanimate faster. He could probably   
do a lot of things faster, now. Including swordfight. Somewhere, inside, he  
knew that someone in this chain had killed Methos. He wasn't sure how he  
knew, but he did. Knowledge and strength were only theoretical when passed  
on, but he felt a very, very old knowledge inside, and he knew who it came  
from.

And he could also feel Richie's in there somewhere. But then, that much he  
had known, since the man he'd killed just an hour before had been the  
Immortal to whom Richie had lost his head.

That was one loss Duncan had found it hard to adjust to; he took it almost  
as hard as he had when Darius had died. Harder, in some ways, for Richie had  
been his pupil. But at least Richie would live on in him... in memory as  
well as through the Quickening.

As Duncan walked into the darkened dojo, Joe Dawson stepped from the shadows.  
"MacLeod."

"What are you doing here this late, Joe?"

"I have to talk to you."

"I killed him," Duncan said. "I cut the head off the guy who killed Richie."

"I know," replied his friend, "and that's what I need to talk to you about."

They went up to the loft. Duncan still felt a pang of pain when Richie  
wasn't there eating his food as usual. Richie would never be there again.  
But his knowledge would live on.

Dawson got right to the point. "MacLeod, do you know how many Immortals  
there were left in the world at 3 a.m. tonight?"

"No. How many?"

"Three. You know how many there are now?"

Duncan had been pouring coffee; he dropped the entire coffee pot on the  
floor. "I killed Stewart at 3."

"3:05, to be exact. Which means, MacLeod, there are only two Immortals left.  
You, and..." He didn't continue.

When Joe didn't say anything more, Duncan knew it was not good news. "Wait a  
minute, Joe. Are you absolutely sure?"

"No. But every single Immortal that we knew of - every single one, bar two -  
has died."

"You don't think... there might be one or two that you don't know about?"

Dawson shook his head. "One of our people was watching Arkin; remember him?"

"Yeah. He spent his entire life looking for and killing other Immortals."

"Arkin killed five Immortals we were watching, and one we didn't know about.  
Then he was beheaded." Joe did not say who had beheaded him, and Duncan lost  
patience. "Why are you avoiding his name? Is it that bad?"

"It's worse."

"What do you mean, worse? Kallas was bad, Grayson was bad. The Kurgan was  
the worst, and Connor killed him..." Something dawned on Duncan. "No..." he  
said, almost to himself. "Tell me it isn't who I think it is, Joseph."

"It is. Connor MacLeod."

"Connor and I are the only two Immortals left?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, my God." Duncan went over to the couch and sank down onto it. He stared  
up at the ceiling. "I can't kill Connor."

"Mac, there can be only one."

"That's what it comes down to, I know. But Connor... he's my clansman. He's  
my friend. He was my teacher. I can't..."

Dawson sat down as well. "You're not going to let him kill you, I hope."

"I might."

"MacLeod..."

Duncan got up again, began pacing. "Connor taught me everything I needed to  
know about being Immortal. The Game. The rules. He even taught me how to  
fight. He told me who to learn from. I'd be dead now if it wasn't for him."

"So, you figure you owe him one."

"I owe him my life, Dawson."

***

Connor MacLeod did not have a direct line on how many Immortals were left,  
but he felt drawn back to Washington State. At first he tried to ignore the  
pull, but eventually he couldn't. And when he gave in, he realised why the  
pull was so strong, and why he hadn't met any other Immortals in the four  
countries he'd travelled across in the previous three weeks. There were only  
two left, and he was being drawn to the other one. So he gave in and took a  
flight straight to Washington itself.

Duncan had been feeling the pull, too. He had felt pulled towards... the  
destination seemed to change. Duncan, however, was better at ignoring things.  
He ignored the pull, knowing that Connor would eventually show up. And what  
was he going to say to him when he did?

***

Duncan was at Joe's when Connor finally did show up. He felt the buzz,  
looked up, and there was his clansman, his chin almost on the floor. As he  
got up to embrace Connor, Duncan saw him mouth the very same words: "Oh, my  
God."

Duncan approached him slowly. "Connor."

"Duncan." Connor seemed to be in shock. "Are we the only two Immortals  
left?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe this."

Duncan gripped his clansman by the arms. "Connor... it's good to see you."

At that, the older MacLeod snapped out of it and hugged the younger one.  
"Duncan!"

Joe Dawson had been standing behind the bar, watching. Duncan turned to him.  
"Uh... Joe Dawson, meet Connor MacLeod."

They shook hands.

"I've heard a lot about you," said Joe.

"It isn't true - he lies," smiled Connor, indicating Duncan, and they all  
laughed.

"So, can I get you a drink?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice." But before Connor could continue, Duncan interrupted.  
"Joe's a Watcher. They watch Immortals. I'll bet he knows what you'll have."

Joe said nothing, merely hummed for a moment while he fixed the drinks.  
Connor took a sip of his and smiled. "A Watcher, huh? For the last few  
months there have been rumours, but I wasn't sure I believed them. So, you  
also keep track of what we drink?"

"We keep track of everything," said Joe.

"Well, you get points for serving me Glenmorangie on the rocks."

They fell silent; Duncan and Connor looking at each other over their drinks.  
Neither one wanted to bring up the topic of the Prize. "I was sorry to hear  
about Tessa," Connor said, breaking the tension.

"Yeah, I got your fax. Thanks."

"And the boy? Where is he?"

"That's right," said Duncan, looking at Joe. "We kept Richie a secret. Few  
people knew about him."

"So, he did become Immortal?"

"Oh, yeah. And a great friend. He was killed two months ago." Duncan looked  
down. "I miss him."

"Yeah."

Then the two MacLeods looked each other in the eye. "You can have my head,"  
said Duncan finally.

"I don't want it," responded Connor.

"Well, I don't want yours!"

"I don't think you two have any choice," put in Joe. "There can be only  
one."

"Well, we just change the rules!" said Connor. But even as he said it, he  
knew it would not work. The two of them could go off by themselves and try  
to live normal lives, but they'd live *forever*, and they'd feel that pull  
for the rest of their lives. They'd feel drawn to each other, to fight.  
Connor looked at Duncan. "We have to fight, don't we?"

Duncan nodded. "We can't change the rules now, when we've lived with them  
for four hundred years."

"Four hundred and seventy-seven," said Connor, but there was no smile in his  
voice.

"You can still have my head."

"No." Connor stood up. "If we do this, we do it properly. We go home. We go  
back to the Highlands and we do it there. And we fight, until only one  
remains."

"I'm not going to fight you, Connor."

"I don't want to fight you, either, but we both know there isn't any  
alternative."

Duncan nodded, and Connor turned to leave. "I'll book a flight out  
tomorrow."

"All right."

When Connor had left, Duncan looked at Dawson with a cold sadness in his  
eyes. "I don't think I can kill him, Joe."

"I doubt he thinks he can kill you, either."

"What are we going to do?"

"Go to Scotland. Take it from there."

Duncan nodded, getting up slowly. He knew Joe would also be booking the  
first flight to Scotland. And probably calling whatever Watcher it was who  
lived there. "See you, Joe."

***

Duncan went home and started packing. He didn't take many clothes, since he  
didn't expect to be staying a long time... or coming back. He hadn't been  
back to the Highlands for... well, a very long time. Duncan had never  
returned there after his decision to leave, travel and learn from the people  
Connor had told him about. He knew Connor had gone back, though. And yet  
Connor seemed less Scottish than he did. He wondered what it would be like,  
the two of them, back in the Highlands... trying to kill each other.

Duncan wished Richie were with him, to be his sounding board. Dawson saw  
things from a Watcher's perspective; Richie had only ever seen things as  
Duncan's friend. Richie would probably... no, scratch that... *would* have  
advised him to go to Scotland and do what had to be done. He could almost  
imagine Richie saying, "You know there can be only one, Mac." And because of  
that, Richie was gone. Being Immortal had actually made Richie's life  
shorter, not longer, and Duncan was sorry about that. But at least he had  
had a chance to become the person he had always wanted to be. He had been  
successful... and when Duncan thought about it, he knew that for all his  
friends, Immortality had made them successful.

Fitz had been... well, a successful womanizer, but that was Fitz. Darius had  
influenced many people, mortal and Immortal, to try to make the world a  
better place. Amanda... she had been successful at whatever she'd tried...  
aside from counterfeiting, that is. Duncan had never tried to find out who  
had killed Amanda. He didn't want to know, because he knew that, had he  
known, he would have hunted the person down and killed them. And, despite  
her death, Duncan had never wanted to admit to himself that he had loved her.  
So he hadn't asked Joe, and Joe hadn't volunteered the information.

When he was ready, Duncan called Joe. "I've left everything to you," he said.

The first thing out of Joe's mouth was, "What am I gonna do with a dojo,  
MacLeod?"

Duncan had smiled, then. "Sell it. Turn it into a bigger bar. I don't know."

Joe could hear the smile in Duncan's voice, but he had to be serious. "Isn't  
there someone else you want to leave it to... assuming you die, which I'm  
not sure will happen?"

"No." MacLeod swallowed hard. "I would have left... Richie would have  
inherited everything. But Richie isn't here, and you're my friend."

Dawson had reluctantly agreed. Now Duncan could get on that plane for his  
appointment with his clansman... and with destiny.

Duncan picked up his bag, and turned a last time to look at the loft. A lot  
of things had happened here. Him and Amanda together in that bed... Anne  
yelling, "Duncan!" when he had nightmares. Standing there holding the  
Spanish rapier: "Live with it, make it part of you..." The smile that had  
crossed Richie's face... "I can't kill you, I can't!" during the episode  
with Garrick... Dawson lamenting the fact that Watchers and Immortals could  
not be friends, but finally deciding to ignore that rule. And Tessa... she  
had never been here. That hurt him more than any of the other thoughts. They  
were all gone. With the exception of Joe and Connor, everyone whom he had  
loved was gone. And soon there would be only Joe and...

Duncan pulled down the elevator gate, got out at the bottom, exited the dojo  
and locked it.

Then he drove the T-bird to the airport, where Connor would be waiting for  
him.

***

He found Connor waiting at Customs. "Been waiting long?"

"Nah. I just got here. We're waiting to see if they'll let my sword through.  
You'd better do the same."

So Duncan gave them the same story Connor had: they were both antique  
dealers flying to Europe on business, and these swords were personal,  
*antique* items, that just could not be checked with the rest of the luggage.  
Duncan had always shipped a great deal of stuff at once, and his sword had  
always gone along like that. But he hadn't even brought a bag large enough  
to keep the sword in. And by the looks of it, neither had his clansman.

The man at the Customs desk looked extremely harassed. "Sirs, you *have* to  
check them with your baggage. You cannot take them on the plane."

"Do you know how much a Japanese katana is worth?" asked Duncan.

The man's face showed he knew it was a lot.

Connor replied. "Anything from a few thousand dollars to hundreds of  
thousands. These two are worth more than $200,000 each. If you lose them,  
we'll sue you for their full value." He looked at Duncan, who was trying not  
to smile.

Finally the man called the airline. Sounding chastened, he put the phone  
down. "You must keep them in their transport tubes," he said. "We have a  
special padlock to keep them closed. They'll open them for you at your  
destination."

"Thank you." Duncan kept a straight face.

"Of course." Connor was determined to keep *his* face even straighter.

Feeling a little more cheerful - it wasn't often that they got to practice  
their 'act' on people, especially unsuspecting airline officials - the two  
highlanders got on the plane.

***

It had been a somewhat arduous journey, landing in England, hiring a car,  
driving for a long time... But finally the two of them reached their  
destination: the village of Glenfinnan, on the shores of Loch Shiel. "So,  
this is where you lived, huh?" asked Duncan, his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"I lived... I don't think it's there anymore... a bit further north... the  
other side."

Connor nodded. "That's where I went when I heard the rumour of a highlander  
from the MacLeod clan being killed in battle and reviving."

Duncan smiled without much humour. "At least they didn't try and burn me at  
the stake!"

"They would have if you hadn't got the hell out of there."

Suddenly Duncan stopped and looked at Connor. "Am I imagining things, or..."

"I don't think so. Say something to me."

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"Well, we're not imagining things. Your accent has come back."

"So has yours."

They started laughing for no reason, except it was a happy feeling to be  
back in the highlands, together again. And yet... the reason for them being  
here was not a good one. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. And  
one of them would.

"Shouldn't we be at the hotel yet?" Duncan asked. They seemed to have been  
walking forever in the chilly air.

"Here it is," said Connor.

It was not a large hotel at all - just one for people passing through - but  
it was cosy, and the woman at the desk was waiting. "I'm Connor MacLeod. We  
have reservations."

"Ah, yes, Mister MacLeod. Two rooms, just like you asked."

Duncan and Connor both signed, and the woman was amused to see their names.  
"Two MacLeods. Are you brothers?"

"No, clansmen."

"From the actual Clan MacLeod?"

Duncan smiled. "The actual Clan MacLeod, yes."

"These days one can never be sure. We get tourists with Scottish blood who  
claim to belong to almost any clan, but can't authenticate it. How are you  
part of the clan?"

Connor and Duncan looked at each other. Saying they were born into it over  
400 years before somehow would not wash, they could tell! Finally Connor  
chose the best answer. "Our fathers were MacLeods of the Clan MacLeod."

"We've been away for... a long time," added Duncan.

"I see. Well, here are your keys. Everything you need should be in your  
rooms. Supper is from eight to nine."

"Thanks," said Duncan, and they proceeded to their rooms.

***

To emerge a few minutes later, ready to see what they could see. They went  
out and walked around the village for a bit, finally finding an open bar...  
er, pub, where they could have something to drink, and talk.

It wasn't long before civilized talking turned into something else:  
hysterical giggling and rowdiness on both their parts. "Well, I wasn't the  
one who got into that duel on Boston Common!" laughed Duncan. "And got run  
through... what was it, six times?"

"I think so..." laughed his clansman. "I apologised for calling his wife a  
bloated warthog, and then he stopped."

"You were lucky." Duncan started laughing hysterically again. "I remember a  
time... that girl in London..."

"Well, I only got knocked senseless. You're the one who wanted to pledge  
your eternal love... by jumping from... what was it, London Bridge?"

"I wouldn't really have jumped!"

They looked at each other and fresh giggling broke out. "Well, she still  
chose me!" grinned Connor. "Sometimes I got a good woman."

"But I got all the fun!"

The other patrons of the place were not quite staring at them, but they had  
tolerant smiles on their faces. Eventually the two Immortals ran out of one-  
upmanship stories, stumbled out, returned to the hotel and collapsed.

***

"Oh, my head!" Duncan looked at Connor with bleary eyes over the table.

"Mine too. We must look terrible."

"Yeah. Where are we going today?"

"We're going to look around a little."

So they took the car and drove around the area where they had lived. Duncan  
finally got to ask a question he'd been wanting to ask for centuries. "Where  
did you live, when Ramirez found you?"

"A couple of miles... that way," replied Connor, pointing. Then he slowed  
the car, looking sad.

"What is it?"

"Heather, my first wife."

"You never told me much about her."

"She was beautiful and delicate. We were so happy. The only thing that would  
have made us happier was children. And she didn't understand why I stayed  
with her."

"But you loved her," said Duncan, as if that was obvious.

"You and I are similar that way, Duncan. We both love very much. Heather was  
the love of my life. I never began to feel that until I met Brenda, and  
then..."

"Yeah. I still sometimes wake up expecting Tessa to be there. And when she  
isn't, the pain is the same as when she died."

"I know." It was true; Connor did know.

Eventually they came to another loch. They stopped the car and walked next  
to it. "It's beautiful here," said Connor.

"Yeah." Silence for a long time. Then Duncan broke the silence. "Where do  
you want to do it?"

"Anywhere in the Highlands... it's all our home."

"Agreed. When?"

"Tonight."

***

They didn't go back to the hotel, however. Best to keep savouring the look  
and feel of home. It didn't matter that it drizzled for most of the day. It  
didn't matter that they were going to have to try and kill each other. All  
that mattered was spending time together before the inevitable.

They stopped at a small village for lunch. The girl who served them was very  
talkative. "Are you foreigners?"

"No... not really."

"We've been away for a long time."

The girl looked at them carefully. "You're clansmen, right?"

"How did you know?"

"Something... I don't know. The way you two move, or... something about you  
is familiar. Who are you?"

"I'm Duncan MacLeod, and this is Connor MacLeod."

"Funny," she smiled. "I'm Susan MacLeod. You'll find many MacLeods in this  
area."

Connor and Duncan exchanged looks. They knew that, this used to be MacLeod  
clan territory.

"Do you know the stories of the famous clan members?"

"Most of them." In truth, Duncan - and Connor too - had probably lived some  
of the stories.

"Do you know the story of the clansmen killed in battle who revived?"

Duncan answered very quickly. "No."

"It's been in our clan for a couple of hundred years. It isn't a story we  
bandy about casually, but for two more MacLeods... Would you like to hear  
it?"

The two more MacLeods nodded.

"After a battle with the Frasiers, one of our clansmen was killed in battle  
and revived. Everyone thought it was witchcraft, and they banished him from  
the village. They never knew what happened to him."

"What do you think happened?" Connor had never gotten to hear about his  
ordeal from the other side before.

By now the girl was sitting at the table with them. "I think he was probably  
in a coma, with shallow breathing, and they assumed he was dead. And then,  
when he came around, they couldn't handle it."

"Makes sense," said Duncan.

"Yes, until you consider that about a century later, the same thing happened  
to another clan member."

Duncan waited, but she didn't continue, so he had to ask her to carry on.

"The same thing. He was killed in battle and revived. But this time there  
was no banishment, he left by himself. There were stories that his father  
had seen him and that he was all right, but no one knows. To this day that  
story is told, and no one knows how much truth there is to it. Probably the  
same thing happened twice: a deep coma, or something."

"Is that what you think?" asked Connor.

"I think that what Shakespeare said about there being more things in heaven  
and earth is true."

"Yeah, a kind of magic," said Duncan. That was Connor's description of the  
what and why of Immortals.

"Exactly. I would have liked to have known more about it. We have many tales  
like that."

Connor and Duncan spent the time in the village talking with Susan MacLeod  
about clan stories and clan history, then they had to move on. "Are you  
coming back this way?" she asked.

"Well, we haven't decided. Probably I will, or he will," replied Duncan.

"Stop in and say goodbye when you do, all right? I'll have some haggis ready  
for you."

The two Immortals smiled, as Connor remembered explaining haggis to Ramirez,  
and Duncan recalled Connor's description of the scene. "We like haggis,"  
they said in unison.

"Good," said the girl.

***

It was almost nighttime. The two Immortals had driven and wandered around  
the Highlands for the entire day. In some ways they had never been happier.  
They were home. They were together. They had overcome evil... all the evil  
Immortals were gone. But a nagging questions remained: if that was so, why  
did they have to continue with this? There was no answer to that one, they  
only knew they did.

Finally, Connor stopped the car. He turned to face his clansman. "So... are  
you ready?"

Duncan nodded. "Yeah. Where are we?"

"I used to live near here with Heather. It was the happiest time of my  
life."

Duncan understood that very well. "My time with Tessa was the happiest time  
of my life. We had everything... almost everything," he amended, thinking of  
the child he knew Tessa had wanted, but could never have, and would never  
have hurt him to have. "Connor... what do you think the Prize is?"

"Power beyond imagination."

"Yeah, but... what does that mean, exactly?"

Connor opened the door and got out of the car, discarding his coat. "I don't  
know."

Duncan followed suit. "Promise me... you'll tell Joe. He deserves to know."

"No. You will have to tell him."

"Connor... promise me."

"All right. But you promise not to sell my personal antique collection,  
then."

"Fine."

They stood there, in the Highlands, staring at each other for a long time.  
Finally, Connor stepped forward and hugged his clansman. "I have enjoyed  
knowing you, Duncan."

Duncan was at a loss for words. He swallowed hard, nodding, as he let go.  
"Me too."

Connor stepped back and took out his katana. "There can be only one."

Duncan did the same. "There can be only one."

***

The fight did not last too long. At first both Immortals had been worried  
that they would not fight their best, but that idea was thrown right out  
after the first few seconds. Something - the same thing that had drawn them  
together - made sure they did. They were driven to fight, driven to want to  
win.

Connor MacLeod used every trick with a sword he'd ever learnt. Everything  
Ramirez had shown him. Everything he'd learned from all his subsequent  
teachers. Everything he could.

Duncan MacLeod was doing the same. He could almost feel his teachers  
whispering to him what moves to use: Hideo Koto, Mei Ling, Kiem Sun, the  
Connor MacLeod of long ago...

The swords flashed in the moonlight as the two men fought. Not for any of  
the reasons people normally did. Not for love, or money, or pride, or  
patriotism. Not even for the age-old reason: good versus evil. They didn't  
even fight for the Prize. They fought because they had no alternative.  
Because in the end, there could be only one.

And when, finally, one sword finished it, there was only one.

Duncan MacLeod's sword flashed down a second too early for his clansman to  
parry it, and it was over. Duncan fell to the ground, unable to believe what  
had happened. He had won. He was the only one left. He waited for the  
Quickening as he lay there in the grass, tears streaming down his face.  
"Connor."

And then the Quickening enveloped him, and he was flung into the air. In the  
space of a few minutes he relived all the experiences of all the Immortals  
who had ever been, millennia of memories cascading through his mind, letting  
him know *everything*. All the power, all the strength, all the sundry  
things that had made up each Immortal life, became his. And all because of  
that one sword stroke that had given him victory.

***

The girl named Susan MacLeod was pleased to see Duncan back. "Ah, so you did  
some back, after all."

"Who could say no to haggis?" smiled the highlander.

"Where's your clansman?"

"He... couldn't make it."

"Hm. Pity. So, how long are you going to be here, anyway?"

"I don't know," replied Duncan. "Maybe a *very* long time."

THE END


End file.
